


The Way It Would Have Been

by Movie_Riggs



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, a glimpse at an alternate timeline, depressing but with a happy ending, inspired by it's a wonderful life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-05 21:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Movie_Riggs/pseuds/Movie_Riggs
Summary: "I wish I never became Spider-Man."Haunted by the events of Infinity War, Peter Parker wishes aloud that he was never bitten by that radioactive spider freshman year. Doctor Strange uses the Time Stone to show Peter what the world would have been like without Spider-Man.





	The Way It Would Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: this story contains a scene of self-harm.
> 
> This gets sad, but I PROMISE PROMISE PROMISE it has a happy ending, because God knows I need one after Infinity War.

_Dust. Dust. He was turning into dust._

Peter shook himself awake, clawing at thin air, still feeling as though he were slowly disintegrating. But he wasn't. He was real, the bed he was in was real, the room was real. Thanos was gone. His universal genocide was undone. And Peter was resurrected. 

That should have been comforting, Peter supposed, but being resurrected inevitably meant you had to have died, first. That was not very comforting, nor was it something easy to get used to.

He was in Wakanda, along with the rest of the surviving Avengers. T'Challa had given them all rooms to sleep in before most of them made the journey home to America. Some had already left, though, with other destinations in mind. The Guardians of the Galaxy flew off to space, Thor accompanying them. After several years of being on the run, the Black Widow had decided she missed the life of a retired spy and left without saying much of anything to anyone, save for a promise that she would manage to show up for the funeral of Steve Rogers.

Bucky Barnes and Wanda Maximoff were staying in Wakanda for the time being; Bucky had nowhere else to go and Wanda was anxiously waiting to see if T'Challa's sister Shuri and her engineers could figure out a way to revive Vision.

Peter, along with Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner, Dr. Strange (who was an actual doctor, it turns out), James Rhodes, Sam Wilson, Scott Lang, Clint Barton and that new girl named Carol-something would all be heading back to New York via the Quinjet tomorrow morning. For now, Peter was stuck with nightmares.

He rose shakily from bed, his head still reeling. _Dust. Dust_.

Outside his window, the very beginnings of a beautiful orange sunrise could be seen on the horizon. The rest of the sky was still midnight blue, displaying thousands of stars that Peter never got to see back in New York. For this reason, he decided to make the most of his lack of sleep and go for a walk. The floor cold against his bare feet, he exited his room and crept quietly down the hall, nearly tripping over the robes T'Challa had given him to wear several times. Every so often, Peter would peek behind his shoulder, feeling like a Mad Titan might be lurking in the shadows, waiting to crush him. There wasn't one.

Outside, Peter breathed in fresh air and looked around him, spotting antelope in the distance. Wakanda was peacefully still and silent at night, so much so that Peter feared even stepping away from the building and onto the grass might disturb the entire savanna. So he stayed where he was, rocking back and forth on his toes and trying to focus on the sky and the stars. Anything but the ground, where there was more _dust_.

"If you're going to stand there, could you at least do so quietly?"

"Shit!" Peter hissed, jumping at the voice. Apparently he wasn't being as silent as he thought. He looked around for the source, finally realizing that Stephen Strange was hovering, legs crossed, not five feet from him. The doctor's eyes were closed. Around his neck was a small vibranium orb that Peter knew contained the Time Stone.

After Thanos' defeat, each of the Infinity Stones had been split up among the Avengers and the Guardians, with specially designed vibranium orbs--courtesy of Shuri, again--to contain them in. While the Time Stone had been returned to Strange, Thor had taken the Space Stone, T'Challa the Mind Stone, Mr. Stark the Power Stone, Quill the Soul Stone (he had _insisted_ on that), and Carol-something the Reality Stone. All separated and guarded by the most qualified people Peter knew, so that no being could ever attempt what Thanos had done.

"Sorry," Peter apologized, studying the floating man curiously. His heart pounding once more, Peter took a moment to settle down and not start thinking about the _dust_ again. Once he was calm, he asked, "What're you doing?"

"Meditating," Strange replied, his eyes remaining closed. "Staying in touch with the spiritual plane."

"Oh," Peter said, wondering if he even knew what that meant. "So...I shouldn't talk, then?"

"If you can manage it," Strange said with slight annoyance.

"Right," Peter nodded, clearing his throat and facing the coming sunrise again. He stood this way, awkwardly, glancing over at Strange every few seconds to see if he was still hovering. He always was.

Finally, Strange opened his eyes, seemingly unable to get sufficiently in touch with the spiritual plane while Peter was nearby. "I sense you're troubled, Mr. Parker," he said. 

Peter nearly jumped again, as it had been a minute or two since either of them had spoken. "Oh...uh, yeah, well, I was just thinking. S' all." 

"Your mind is in turmoil," Strange told him matter-of-factly. "You're haunted by the events on Titan."

_Don't think about the dust, don't think about the dust._

"Well...yeah. Aren't you?"

Strange shook his head. "Death is not the end. There is no reason to fear it."

"But it's the unknown," Peter argued. "Everyone fears the unknown."

"Perhaps it is not as unknown as we think," Strange pointed out. "I have no memory of what happened in between my disappearance and my return, but I am confident in the beyond. Did you know that T'Challa's culture believes in a spiritual plane not unlike the one I constantly attempt to break into with my mind? The Wakandan people's ancestors supposedly dwell in this plane, living peaceful lives. Reunited with loved ones. An eternal life without the pain and suffering that the physical realm naturally brings."

"Do you think that's true?" Peter asked quickly. 

Strange shrugged. "Could be. Or it could be something slightly different for all cultures. Either way, I think it's foolish to assume that death is the end. Never fear that you will cease to exist. There's always something--somewhere--else. The Soul Stone exists for a reason, you know."

A fat lot of good it did him in the moment. Peter collapsed into a sitting position on the ground, heaving a sigh that bore the weight of all his nightmares.

"I wish I never became Spider-Man."

A huff, dare he say a chuckle, came from Strange. "No, you don't," the doctor stated.

"No, I'm serious!" Peter argued defensively. "I do! Think about it: I helped defeat Thanos, but you guys didn't _need_ me. Which means that even if I hadn't been here to fight, everything still would have turned out fine. And...and I wouldn't have to know what it was like to...to..."

"Die?" Strange finished for him bluntly. 

Peter gulped and nodded.

Strange nodded back, finally throwing his legs down and standing up, no longer floating. He outstretched his hand. "Okay, Peter. Your wish is granted."

Peter frowned. "What?"

"Come with me," Strange urged. "I'll show you."

Hesitantly, Peter took Strange's hand and stood up. He then watched as Strange opened up the vibranium orb around his neck and began to cast some sort of spell with his hands and the Time Stone. Before Peter could ask what was happening, there was a blinding flash of light and his ears popped. 

The light faded as quickly as it had appeared, and Peter removed his hands from his eyes to find that, astonishingly, he was no longer standing in Wakanda...

The room was wide and extensive, filled with men and women in laboratory attire, bustling about with clipboards and laptops in their hands or standing at various tables and collecting data. One woman, whose head was bent over an iPad, walked straight towards Peter without looking up. 

"Sorry!" Peter began instinctively, trying to move out of her way before she bumped into him headfirst. He did not move out of the way in time, but the woman did not bump into him either. Instead, she passed right through him. Peter watched her keep on walking in shock. 

"They can't see us nor hear us, Peter," Strange's voice said, and Peter realized the doctor was standing right next to him. "They've no idea we're here."

"Where are we?" Peter demanded. 

Strange pointed forward. "I think you know. I believe you've been here before."

Peter followed Strange's line of vision, where he saw a group of high school kids--freshmen, probably--gathering around a series of display cases that a tour guide had led them to. On the outside of this group, trying desperately to get a better look, were two boys. One was a heavyset, cheerful Filipino that Peter would recognize anywhere as his own best friend Ned Leeds. The other was a boy with unkempt hair, a spot of acne on his forehead, and glasses that refused to stay upright on the bridge of his nose.

"That's...me," Peter said in amazement. He turned to Strange. "This this my freshman-year field trip? Are we _in my freshman-year field trip?!_ "

Strange frowned, shushing him. 

Peter's eyes widened, and he clamped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry," he whispered. "I thought you said they couldn't hear us."

"They can't," Strange confirmed. "But there's no need to shout."

"Oh. Right," Peter said sheepishly. "My bad. I just get really excited about this sort of stuff. Did you ever see that really old movie 'Back to the Future?'"

Strange rolled his eyes, taking Peter by the shoulders and turning him around so that he was facing the goings-on once more. 

"C'mon, let a guy through!" Ned was complaining. 

"Over here!" Peter watched his younger self say. Both boys hurried around to the other side of the display case, peering in at the tiny creatures inside. 

"...into these fifteen genetically designed super-spiders," the tour guide was saying. 

Out of nowhere, a hand went up and a girl's voice said, "There's fourteen."

"I'm sorry?" the tour guide asked. 

"One's missing."

Indeed, only fourteen spiders were in the glass cages. Peter turned to Strange. "That's it! That's the one that bit me! The fifteenth one, it--"

Strange cut him off, pointing at the floor. There, next to Young Peter's shoe, was a small red-and-blue spider, crawling along without a care.

"Now...watch," Strange said. 

Peter obeyed, studying the spider's every move. He knew what happened next. He knew that the arachnid was going to reach the nearest table leg, crawl up it, and drop onto Young Peter's hand, where it would bite him and change the course of his life forever.

Only the spider never reached the table leg. Instead, Ned took an extra step forward, his shoe crushing the spider underneath. When his foot lifted up, all that remained was a small spot of goo. 

"Wait," Peter said, furrowing his brow in confusion. "What just happened?"

The tour guide was moving on, and Midtown High's students with her. Young Ned and Peter clumsily brought up the rear, the latter unaffected by any spider bite.

"I told you," Strange said. "Your wish has been granted. Now you were never bit by that spider, and you never gained any powers. You never became a superhero."

"Really?" Peter asked, still bewildered. 

Strange gave him no time to dwell on it. "Would you like to see how this further alters the course of history?" he offered. 

Peter raised his brow, still looking back and forth from the dead spider to his younger self, who was disappearing around a corner. "Uh...yeah. Sure?"

"Good," Strange said, his hands already beginning to work the spell a second time. "Because you really don't have a choice in the matter."

Suddenly remembering what had happened the first time, Peter shut his eyes tight and gritted his teeth. The blinding light came, his ears popped, and he was no longer standing in the laboratory...

Peter did not have to ask where they were, now. He recognized the building's front instantly. "Hey!" he grinned. "This is my favorite restaurant!"

"How about that?" Strange muttered sardonically. 

"I could go for some Thai right about now," Peter went on. "Do you think you could make the guy behind the register see us just long enough for me to order some larb?"

"No," Strange said with a groan. "Focus, Mr. Parker. Let me set the scene for you. It's December 24th, 2015. Christmas Eve."

Peter's heart skipped a beat, and he felt a chill run up his spine. "Wait...seriously?"

"Seriously."

The smile faded from Peter's face, and he stared into the Thai restaurant blankly. "That was our first holiday without Uncle Ben."

Strange turned and pointed down the sidewalk. "Not anymore."

Before he knew what he was doing, Peter was sprinting towards the small family of three that was walking up to the restaurant. "UNCLE BEN!" he cried, his voice cracking. The moment he tried to embrace the kindly middle-aged man, Peter passed right through him. The family--which was Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and Peter's younger self again--continued strolling. Without glancing at Strange, Peter followed them as if in a trance. 

"I'm so sorry I burnt the turkey, guys," Aunt May apologized. 

"It's okay, honey, really," Uncle Ben assured her, throwing an arm around her good-naturedly. "I'm more than happy to get Thai. What do you say we order it to go? Pete?"

Young Peter nodded. "I'm cool with that."

"Good," Uncle Ben nodded, winking at his wife. "We've got to get you home and into bed A.S.A.P. Wouldn't want to miss Santa Claus."

"You know I stopped believing in Santa Claus years ago, right?" Peter said, rolling his eyes. 

Uncle Ben tossed his shoulders, playing dumb. "I don't know...you might start believing in him all over again when you see what's in your stocking tomorrow morning."

Peter grinned at his uncle excitedly, pushing his glasses up his nose. "It's tickets to 'The Force Awakens,' isn't it?"

"I'm not saying a word," Uncle Ben insisted. 

"It's definitely tickets to 'The Force Awakens,'" Peter repeated, this time to Aunt May.

The three entered the Thai restaurant, laughing among themselves. Peter stopped trailing them once the door closed, but continued to watch them longingly through the glass pane. It made sense. If he was never bit by the spider, he never would have had that argument with Uncle Ben. He never would have stormed out of the apartment, Ben would never have followed him. His uncle never would have been shot and killed.

"This...this is incredible," Peter whispered happily. "He's alive." He turned to Strange. "You're telling me he's alive? I don't get bit and he's alive?"

Strange made a grand sweeping gesture with his arms, as if to say _the proof is right in front of you_. "That's correct."

For the first time in a long time, Peter let out a genuine laugh. "That's great! This is totally worth not being Spider-Man!" He looked expectantly to Strange. "So! Time to go home, right?"

Strange cocked his head. "No can do, Mr. Parker. We've got a few more stops to make."

Peter frowned, opening his mouth to protest. Before he could say anything, Strange had cast the spell and the blinding light flashed, accompanied by the pop in his ears. Then, Peter was no longer standing in front of the Thai restaurant...

"Is there any way to do that that _won't_ give me a headache?" Peter complained when the light faded.  

"Probably," Strange said, keeping an air of carelessness about him. "Don't look down, by the way."

"Why?" Peter asked, instantly looking down and then letting out, "Holy shit!"

He and Strange were floating thousands of feet high in the air. Below them was Coney Island. 

"Yep, my headache's worse, now!" Peter groaned. "Definitely worse! Why are we all the way up _here?_ "

Strange directed his gaze upward. "Someone is hijacking a Stark Industries cargo plane."

Peter looked up to see a familiar plane flying just above them. On its underbelly, Peter could just make out the Vulture's high-altitude vacuum seal. "It's Toomes!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," Strange explained. "Without Spider-Man, Adrian Toomes never encountered any obstacles during his crime spree. He succeeded in robbing Stark Industries, and sold crates of ARC reactors and other advanced technology on the black market, setting himself up for an early retirement." 

The faintest twinge of guilt _might_ have made itself known to Peter, but he ignored it. "Okay," he cleared his throat. "Is that it?"

Strange raised his brow. "This doesn't bother you?"

Peter huffed. "No. What, are you trying to get me to change my mind?"

"Not at all," Strange said. "I've simply pointed out to you two changes that you made to the course of time by wishing away Spider-Man. Your uncle lives. Toomes gets away with his plans."

Peter shrugged. "Okay! Fine. Good. I'm alright with that." When Strange offered no reply, Peter continued, feeling for some reason that he needed to excuse himself. "Look, if you're telling me the worst thing to happen in a world without Spider-Man is Toomes never getting caught, then I'm fine with that! In fact, maybe this will finally get Mr. Stark's attention, and he can go fight the Vulture and get all his stuff back himself, instead of forcing me to do it for him! Now, can we go home? _Please?_ "

That damn flash of light and a resounding pop, and Peter was no longer flying thousands of feet in the air...

Instead, he was at the corner of Delmar's Deli. The moon was bright and full in the sky. Inside the store, Mr. Delmar was preparing to close for the night.

"This is actually six blocks from my place," Peter said, jerking his thumb back in the general direction of his apartment complex.

"We are right where we're supposed to be," Strange said flatly. "Just shut up and pay attention."

Reluctantly, Peter did as he was told. Just when Mr. Delmar was readying to leave, a boy a couple of years younger than Peter walked into the store. Mr. Delmar glanced up. "I'm sorry, son, we're closed," he said. "Come by in the morning." The boy replied by reaching under his shirt and bringing out a large, brown-handled revolver that looked modified in a way not unlike the weapons the Vulture's crew used to make. Instantly, Mr. Delmar's hands shot up. 

"Gimme everything in the register!" the boy ordered. "Or I'll blow you away!"

Mr. Delmar swallowed nervously, but kept his voice as even as possible. "Now, wait a second, kid," he said gently. "You don't want to do this."

"I _said_ gimme everything in the register!" the boy repeated fiercely.

"Just put the gun down, kid," Mr. Delmar urged. "Put the gun down."

There was a CRACK, Peter flinched in horror, and Mr. Delmar's brains were splattered all over the back wall.

"NO!" Peter shouted. He started to rush forward, but Strange caught his arm and held him back. 

The boy stared at the gun in his hands, his face full of regret and shock. Tears of shame and guilt began to flow from his eyes, but he could not break down completely. Seeming to remember that he was there for a reason, the boy hurried to the register, hitting it open with the butt of the revolver. He began fishing out wads of cash and stuffing them in his pockets. Once most of the money was collected, minus a few stray bills, he hurried out of the store and down the street.

Peter was speechless, but Strange was already talking. "Oh, that's Miles Morales. Kid from Queens, just like you. In another world, he would become...well, he would become something much more than the likes of this. You see, Miles' father and uncle are both criminals. Runs in the family. Without Spider-Man, he ended up turning to crime as well."

"Without Spider-Man?" Peter mumbled, still in a daze.

"Yes, well...Spider-Man was his hero," Strange continued. "Miles looked up to him. Wanted to be him. That is, he _did_. Before Spider-Man ceased to exist."

Peter blinked back a few tears, his emotions locked in a fierce battle. Only a few minutes ago, he had seen Uncle Ben alive and well. That was what he needed to focus on. Not this. He turned to Strange bitterly, beginning to feel a strong dislike for the older man. "Listen to me very carefully, _Doctor_ ," he said. "I wished that I never became Spider-Man, and you told me my wish was granted. You've shown me a whole lot. I'm impressed. Your powers are really cool. But I'm tired of you showing off, and I'm tired of you trying to change my mind. Look, if you really..." Peter cleared his throat, clenching his fists, "...if you really expect me to choose my uncle over Mr. Delmar? It's not a choice I want to make, but..." 

 _I don't have to explain myself to him_ , Peter thought, cutting himself off. He cast a glare at Strange. "I. Want. To go _home_. Now."

Strange held up a finger. "And you will. After one more stop."

"No--!"

Peter was cut off by the light and the pop, and he was no longer standing in front of Delmar's Deli.

Now, he and Strange were in a dimly lit bedroom. The clock on the nightstand read 1:37 a.m. Peter looked about the small room in exasperation. 

"Where the hell are we now?" he demanded. "I don't know this place! I've never been here!"

He was interrupted by the creaking of the bedroom door. Peter turned to see a face he had missed very much in the days (which felt like years) since he had left New York to fight Thanos. 

"MJ," he whispered in awe, smiling in spite of how upset he still was at Strange. 

MJ shut the bedroom door behind her. Her curly hair was hanging loose about her shoulders. She wore a simple sweatshirt and shorts; sleeping clothes. Which was good, because she looked exhausted. _But beautiful_ , Peter added to himself. _She's so beautiful_. He desperately wanted her to be able to see him. It felt like it had been so long. They had left so many things unfinished. 

Alas, MJ could not see him and did not even look in his general direction. Instead, she walked over to her nightstand and opened the top drawer. She reached one hand inside and retrieved a small, paper-thin piece of metal. 

"MJ?" Peter said again, this time inquisitively. "What's she doing?"

"She's getting out the razor she hides in her top drawer," Strange answered. 

Peter whirled on him with wide, alarmed eyes. "I can _see_ that, but _why?!_ "

"I'm afraid she has depression," Strange said, for once looking a bit haunted himself as he watched MJ roll up her sleeves. To Peter's horror, her arms were covered in scars.

"She took to self-harm around the time of her seventeenth birthday," Strange went on. "I believe she feels...unloved. Her parents neglect her, and she has no friends to turn to."

Peter, aghast though he was, took that last phrase as a final bit of hope. He was allowed to laugh it off, now, because Strange was wrong. He was still trying to get Peter to second-guess himself, to take back his wish. But Peter was too smart. He had caught him. "Of course she has friends!" Peter said, _forcing_ himself to chuckle. "Ned and I! We're her friends!"

Strange shook his head. "Not anymore, you're not. Since you never became Spider-Man, Michelle never found out, and you two never had a reason to talk beyond your academic decathlon practices. Which, by the way, she quit after sophomore year. Since Toomes' daughter never left, she was never elected the new captain of the team and she lost interest."

Peter dropped to his knees, inches away from Michelle, who was sitting against her bed with the razor in her right hand and her left arm outstretched.

"MJ..."

The razor touched skin.

"MJ, no."

MJ's breath hitched, and she began to cut.

"Please!"

The blade made its mark, and dark red blood began pouring from her arm.

" _Michelle!_ "

MJ instantly reached into her pocket and produced a washcloth, which she held to her bleeding arm. Then she began to weep silently.

Peter lunged forward over and over, trying to make her feel him, make her see him, to no avail. "This can't be happening!" he sobbed. "This can't be happening!"

"Without Spider-Man, it can be," Strange said solemnly. "And it does. Wish away Spider-Man, and this is the result."

Peter let out a cry of distress and blind anger, jumping up from the floor and throwing a punch at Strange, which the latter easily dodged. "YOU DID THIS! IT'S YOUR FAULT!"

"I'M NOT THE ONE WHO WISHED AWAY SPIDER-MAN!" Strange boomed back, using an unspoken spell to cause his voice to multiply and echo all around Peter, till finally the young man halted his attack.

"This isn't fair!" Peter shouted. "You're making me choose between my uncle and my girlfriend!"

Strange shook his head. "No, I'm not, Peter. I'm simply making you choose between a life where you made a difference, where you _helped_ others, and one where you never got the chance to."

"If you can show me all this, then you can fix it, too! Make it so that Uncle Ben lives and Toomes still gets caught and that kid never robs the store and MJ doesn't...doesn't..." he couldn't say it. He couldn't repeat what he had just seen. Peter was fighting back not just tears but rage, because Strange was remaining completely calm and this situation demanded anything but calmness.

"When I swore to protect the Time Stone with my life, I also swore that I would never misuse it," Strange explained. "The Infinity Stones are not meant to be used frivolously. I can travel back and forward in time, Peter, but I can change no one's destiny."

Peter knelt down at MJ's bedside, looking directly into her watery eyes, which gazed right through him. "This is fucked up. This is so fucked up."

"I do not believe your uncle would have wanted you to sacrifice all this just for him," Strange said.

Peter jumped back up, whirling on Strange and pointing an accusing finger at him. "YOU DIDN'T KNOW MY UNCLE!" he screamed.

Strange nodded. "No, I didn't. But you did."

A pause. Peter took a moment to catch his breath, to cool his emotions as much as was possible given the circumstances. Finally, he threw up his arms in defeat. "You're right," he admitted. "He wouldn't have."

"It's not easy to have the powers we have, Peter," Strange said, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder and squeezing gently. "You have no idea how many times I've been tempted to misuse the Time Stone for my own benefit. To make it so that I never broke up with Christine. So that I never crashed my car and damaged my hands. So that I never became a sorcerer and was never cursed with guarding this damned stone. But it's not my place. It's no one's place. Men are not meant to control the course of our lives, Peter. We can only control what we do with the lives we're given. You chose to be Spider-Man. And I believe that's a choice you don't regret. Do you?"

It had never been his fault that Uncle Ben died. It had just happened. That was something Peter had struggled with for a long time. Even when he knew it, and understood it, an ugly voice in his head had tried to convince him otherwise. But it simply wasn't true. Uncle Ben died because of a decision _he_ made, not because of a decision Peter had made. But Spider-Man? _That_ had been Peter's decision. And it had been a good one. He saved entire busloads of people, some of them his own classmates, became a hero to children who had none, and stuck by Mr. Stark's side till the end. How could he regret any of that?

"No," Peter finally said softly.

Strange nodded in satisfaction. "Then it's time we go home," he said, readying the Time Stone once more.

"Wait," Peter said, turning to look back at MJ. He knew this was not really her. He knew he would return back to Queens and find her safe and sound, sans any scars, and he was going to embrace her like it was the last chance he would ever have to do so (because it very well could have been). But even so, it was terribly difficult to see, let alone leave behind, this tortured version of the girl he loved. "Do you...do you promise me she'll be okay?"

"Of course," Strange smiled reassuringly. "You both will be."

* * *

 

Even after he returned home, even after he was reunited with Aunt May and Ned and MJ, even after Steve Rogers' funeral and Tony Stark's wedding...Peter still did not put on the suit and go for a patrol around the city. A few news reports commented on the would-be "vanishing of Spider-Man," but the battle on Titan and its end results were still too fresh on Peter's mind. Thankfully, he had both Mr. Stark and Dr. Strange to talk him through his psychological recovery, plus the endless comfort brought by his aunt's terrible cooking, his best friend's jokes and his girlfriend's soothing hugs. 

It was one summer day, a couple of months since everything had ended, that a live broadcast of an attack by an unknown assailant in a giant mechanical suit caught Peter's attention. It was different than a simple bank robbery. Peter could feel the sensation boiling inside him; it was _finally time_. 

The Iron Spider was at his full disposal now, but Peter was feeling nostalgic and decided to wear the first suit Mr. Stark had given him. "Hey, Karen," he said once the mask was on. "Long time no see."

"Hello, Peter," Karen replied sweetly. "It has been a long time. Did you take a vacation?"

"Ah, something like that, yeah," Peter said, crawling out of and then shutting his window.

"So where are you taking me today?" Karen inquired.

"There's a bad guy out on the streets not far from here," Peter told her. "We're gonna take him down. Patch me through to the laptop, would you?"

"Done."

A second later, Ned's voice came through. _"Yo, Pete! You hear me?"_

"Copy," Peter responded in between breaths. "Can you see what I see?"

 _"That's affirmative,"_ Ned said excitedly. _"This is working great. Also, a semi-clear picture of our target was finally taken. Looks like quite the machine."_

"You forget you're talking to an official Avenger," Peter grinned. He was now swinging close enough that he could hear the chaos only a couple of blocks away.

 _"Just be careful, Official Avenger,"_ MJ's voice chimed in. _"If you get hurt, I'm not kissing you for a whole week."_

"What's that?" Peter said playfully. "I can't hear you anymore! You're breaking up!"

_"You heard me, loser."_

"Don't worry, MJ, I'll be fine."

As Peter came swinging onto the street that was his destination, he spotted the target punching through a car. Karen zoomed in, analyzing the machine. It appeared to be a suit of some kind, because there was a pilot inside. The suit was dark green, with a long, scorpion-like tail mechanism extending from the backside. 

 _What the hell is that?_ Peter thought. No time to think about it, now. He jumped into the middle of the street, waving at the nearest news helicopter for kicks, and shouted, "Hey, Greenie!"

The suit turned to face him, opening up to reveal the scarred man inside. "You!" he shouted triumphantly, pointing at Spider-Man. "I've been waiting for you!"

"Yeah?" Peter called out. "Cool! We should talk, then! You know, arachnid-to-fellow-arachnid?"

"Talk?" the Scorpion laughed. "No! You're gonna die!"

"Well, you're gonna have to catch me first!"

With that, Peter shot two lines of web, one to his left and one to his right, and propelled himself forward. The Scorpion used his tail to launch a series of knives in Peter's direction, but the latter dodged and weaved through them all. 

 _It's been too long_ , Peter thought confidently.

With a whoop, Spider-Man charged into battle.

**Author's Note:**

> No special notes for this one. Hope you enjoyed! Kudos/comments are always appreciated.


End file.
